equality.  She was married, but to a man greatly her inferior, though possessing some literary talent, which he managed to turn to better account than she did her finer powers.  He had been attracted by her brilliant qualities, and in approaching her scorched his wings, and ever after lay at her feet.  She had no very high respect for him, but found a husband on many accounts a convenient thing, and so held on to the appendage.  If he had been man enough to remain silent on the themes she was so fond of discussing on all occasions, people of common sense and common perception would have respected him for what he was worth.  But he gloried in his bondage, and rattled his chains as gleefully as if he were discoursing sweet music.  What she announced oracularly, he attempted to demonstrate by bald and feeble arguments.  He was the false understanding to her perverted will.

The name of this lady was Mrs. Talbot.  Irene met her soon after her marriage and removal to New York, and was charmed with her from the beginning.  Mr. Emerson, on the contrary, liked neither her nor her sentiments, and considered her a dangerous friend for his wife.  He expressed himself freely in regard to her at the commencement of the intimacy; but Irene took her part so warmly, and used such strong language in her favor, that Emerson deemed it wisest not to create new sentiments in her favor out of opposition to himself.

Within a week from that memorable Christmas day on which Irene came back from Ivy Cliff, Mrs. Talbot, who had taken a fancy to the spirited, independent, undisciplined wife of Emerson, called in to see her new friend.  Irene received her cordially.  She was, in fact, of all her acquaintances, the one she most desired to meet.

“I’m right glad you thought of making me a call,” said Mrs. Emerson, as they sat down together.  “I’ve felt as dull all the morning as an anchorite.”

“You dull!” Mrs. Talbot affected surprise, as she glanced round the tasteful room in which they were sitting.  “What is there to cloud your mind?  With such a home and such a husband as you possess life ought to be one long, bright holiday.”

“Good things in their way,” replied Mrs. Emerson.  “But not everything.”

She said this in a kind of thoughtless deference to Mrs. Talbot’s known views on the subject of homes and husbands, which she had not hesitated to call women’s prisons and women’s jailers.

“Indeed!  And have you made that discovery?”

Mrs. Talbot laughed a low, gurgling sort of laugh, leaning, at the same time, in a confidential kind of way, closer to Mrs. Emerson.

“Discovery!”

“Yes.”

“It is no discovery,” said Mrs. Emerson.  “The fact is self-evident.  There is much that a woman needs for happiness beside a home and a husband.”